Broken Dreams and Shit

The Diary of Cruisemaster B’

By Ben Benchin

What’s the dealyeo? It would seem that the Benmeister has had himself a pretty interesting couple of weeks, man. Let me tell you. I learned a couple of things about hopes and dreams, life and love. It was all fucked up.

I learned that the life of a hobo is fine life indeed, even if yours truly ain’t completely suited for the gig. Those dudes have it made, no worries or obligations, just partying hard 24/7. I didn’t even get to cruise the whole time I was with them, but I hardly even noticed. Life was so very sweet. If it wasn’t for the siren’s call of fame, man, I’d probably still be there.

Legs and Noodles spent a few days with me, teaching me this and that about bumming. I like to think of street bumming as being the same basic thing as bumming some squares from your friends, only at a professional level. They taught me which dumpsters had the best food and when the best time a day was best to get it. Restaurants throw out some tasty shit, man. This one time I found a whole fucking whopper, cheese and mayo and all the fixins’. The only thing wrong was that someone had put out a cigar butt in the middle of it. This world is full of some picky mother fuckers, man. I mean, how hard is it to eat around a cigar butt? Legs and Noodles also gave me a few lessons on how to beg change off of rich people, but seeing as most of the people down in the ghetto didn’t have much money that really wasn’t the racket to be in.

I stuck with digging through trash for food and change and I kept buying that wicked Night Train shit for a few days after I got kicked out of the mission. I still can’t find a store where you can get that shit around here, so if any of you readers know where I can find some please write to me courtesy of this paper. That shit was fucking wicked. After a while I kind of got tired of Noodle’s shit, though. He was always calling me a chosen one and licking me when I was sleeping. It’s not that I have anything against faggots, it’s just that I, myself, am not one and I don’t much appreciate it when one of them starts licking my fucking feet while I’m sleeping. So one night I got real fucked up off of nutmeg and Night Train and I pretended I was sleeping and when that butt-lovin’ queer came over to my feet I stabbed him right through his goddamn eye with a plastic spork. He started bleeding like a mother fucker and screaming so loud that even the hobos were waking up.

Legs got all pissed off at me because of that; him and Noodles went way back and he was real protective of him. So he kicked me off the bench and didn’t let me go begging with him anymore. Christ, It’s not like I killed Noodles, man. He just can’t see too good any more, that’s all. I wasn’t even allowed to go through the same dumpsters anymore because Legs said that he’d kill me if I did. I can’t help my actions when I full of nutmeg, man. Fuck.

So I moved deeper into the ghetto and got a nice box of my own that was right next to a couple of faggot niggas named Jerome and Tyrone. Like I said, I got nothing against faggots, so I was cool with their living situation. They were all crazy and shit, and they both lived on the same bench and would watch after my ass when I was sleeping. You give a brotha a square man, and he’ll love you until the day you die.

This new part of the ghetto was right next to a school, so twice a day there would be people with money and sometimes even kids and they usually gave you some change. Me and the niggas decided that begging people for money wasn’t too cool and that providing them something for their money would be better for our Karma and shit.

Jerome and Tyrone went out a stole a couple of Squeegees from some 7-11 and started washing people’s cars for money. That didn’t seem to work too well so I thought up my own idea. Dig this man: I free-styled for food.

Some of you readers might not be aware of this fact, but I am quite the rapper. When I was in still high school me and my ex-friend Peter formed Big Stick records with his mom’s I-mac, and that’s when I first got the name “Cruisemaster B’.” I did the rapping and he did the mixing. Peter is now my ex-friend because he kicked me out of Big Stick right before he started to get gigs, that son of a bitch. It was just because he was jealous of me because I was the one who had all the talent, that he caught me making out with his little sister.

Since it wasn’t my mom who had the I-mac that pretty much ended my career right there. I fucking hate Peter. The last time I heard anything about him he was in Germany and he had just won a whole bunch of German Grammy’s, whatever the hell they call them over there. I hope he’s fucking dead. If I ever see him I’m gonna jab a spork in his eye.

So it was on the street corner of the Ghetto, right next to my box, which was right next to Jerome and Tyrone’s bench, that was just a stone’s throw away from a school, that the Cruisemaster made his triumphant comeback to the world of rapping. I would stand and freestyle and people would throw change at me for it, sometimes dimes even. This one time a dude threw a fifty cent piece at me, he must have really liked my freestylin’.

I kept that up for almost a week and it was a pretty good racket. Good enough to keep me and the niggas stocked full of Night Train and I could even buy some peanuts and Doritos every once in a while. Life was pretty good.

Man, let me tell ya’. However good at freestylin’ I might have been in high school, now I was about a million times better. I think it was living on the streets that did it. Even though I did have a certain natural streetness to me before, it was living in the ghetto that really opened up the rhymes inside of me. Like a flower budding at nightfall, it was all fucked up.

One afternoon, right when school was getting out and the kids were walking around, I started freestylin’ about jumping. I find that jumping is one of the best things you can rap about because people like songs about jumping (“Jump,” “You Start Me Up,” Kangaroo Hop,” etc.) That and it also rhymes with humping, which is pretty cool. So I was rhyming something like “I gonna jump jump jump with the hump hump hump, get that bump on the rump bitch, cruise masta need a fix.” And it kept going on like that. And the next thing I know there’s a whole bunch of kids around me dancing and shit. One of them even brought a drum and was beating on it along with my rhymes. It was pretty fucking cool. Before I knew it a news van from Channel 3 was there and it was taping the whole thing. I guess that they were in town talking to people about some church that noodles had set on fire (all part of that fucking plan of his, that guy was messed up) and then they saw me and decided that I would be a better story. I guess a bunch of people must have watched it because the next day there was even more news vans outside the school and I was getting interviewed and shit.

I was interviewed by some chick who said that I was a starving genius. She was really fucking hot. She looked kinda like a valley chick, only all grown up. I told her about myself, how I was the Cruisemaster, and then I made some shit up. I said that I killed my parents when I was five because they wasn’t listening to me and that I lived on the streets ever since. I asked the interview chick out on the town but she said no. It was probably because I was drunk off of Night Train at the time. I started to almost become a different person because of all the attention I was getting. I was becoming the Cruisemaster

The next day some guy from Dead Nigger Records (yes, the Dead Nigger Records) came over to my box. He must have been real rich, because all his teeth were made of gold and he smelled like leather even though he wasn’t wearing any. He told me that he wanted to hook me and that kid with the drum up with none other than DJ Master Killa 2xcR5stream to record an album! I started to freak and he gave me a contract to sign, but before I could even find a pen the cops showed up at my box. I guess my mom and dad thought I was dead the whole time I was a hobo. When they saw me on the news they flipped and called the cops to come looking for me. The cop said that I had to come with him and he even arrested the guy from Dead Nigger records while he was at it. I that the record dude had killed a whole bunch of people or something. That’s a goddamn shame, ‘cus I was almost a star.

The cop made me get in his car and I said something like “Man, why my mom and dad always getting up in my shit.” You might notice that I don’t usually talk like a nigga, because it’s disrespectful, but when I’m in the midst of my rapping I can’t help myself, it’s almost like I become someone else.

The cop locked up the guy from Dead Nigger Records and dropped me off at home. My parents were all pissed off because now they had to give back some life insurance policy they had taken out on me. I guess that that little dipshit Jim told everybody that I drove him into the ghetto and that I was eaten by some bums, but he somehow managed to escape. He told everybody this and they even had a funeral for me and shit!

I tried going back to my apartment but old man Chinkey had already rented out my place to some fucking wetbacks. I’m kind of glad I don’t live there anymore, it’s all nothing but wetbacks. A few of them I can handle, but when you cram too many of them into a building the whole place begins to smell like shit. I’m not saying that to be racist or anything, it’s a simple fact of nature.

Old man Cinkey said that he had sent all of my possessions over to his family in Vietnam and he said that it was gonna be like three weeks before I could get it back. That toally sucks ass, I don’t even got my CD’s anymore.

Now I’m living back at home. That’s kind of cool because I get three meals a day and cable, but it sucks because my parents are always home and cramping my style. If I had my CD’s I probably wouldn’t be able to play them. The best thing to happen this week had to be my getting the Dorado out of the shop. Nobody told them that I had died and the guy said that they were just getting ready to sell it because I hadn’t picked it up. Man, that was some good luck on my part, at least I got to the shop in time.

I guess that’s about all that’s happened since we last spoke. I’ve been looking for a job and I think I might be in real good at Mr. Bulky’s. Aside from that I guess I’ll just keep you dudes posted. Peace out.